The threat was finally over.
Alen's group had won, but at a terrible cost. Nearly half of the soldiers they had brought with them had fallen. The field was silent now, broken weapons and burnt ground stretching in every direction.
They had let one of the Cerebus members escape, it was unfortunate, but from the look of things, she wasn't coming back.
For now, all they could do was tend to the survivors, gather what remained of the wounded, and secure the evidence they had risked their lives to obtain.
Alen slowly pushed himself off the ground, his stomach aching with every breath. When he lifted his head, his eyes locked on Beatrix.
She was standing in the middle of the battlefield, alone, surrounded by the faint shimmer of dust and blood that the wind hadn't yet carried away.
She did all of this, Alen thought, clutching his abdomen. She took them down… every last one of them. But why isn't she moving?
A cold unease prickled at the back of his neck.
